


As Snow

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:00:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>alternate universe where Kagami and Himuro grew up in New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this story is semilinear in structure (a little bit of time skip, although it settles down later) which may or may not be to your tastes. Title comes from Edward Elgar's "The Snow" which I've listened to a lot while writing this. Also big shoutout to @akaishokushuu on twitter for fueling my ideals (especially this prologue scene)

He’s keeping one eye on the stove and the other on the sports section when Tatsuya calls him from the other room; the stew’s got another 45 minutes to go and it’ll certainly be fine for a little while so he pads off down the hall toward the bedroom.

Tatsuya’s going through yet another box; his mom had passive-aggressively shipped everything he had left in her apartment across the city the other weekend and he’s been clearing it all out—even for a guy like Tatsuya, most of it has little sentimental or monetary value. The object in his hand, which looks like some kind of moth-eaten forest green lump, can’t have much of either.

“Check it out,” says Tatsuya, grin glancing across his features as he shakes it out.

It’s a sweater, way too small for Tatsuya, full of holes and patterned with leaping red-nosed reindeer and the words “Happy Holidays” stitched in gold at the bottom. Suddenly Taiga remembers his own experience with the thick green wool in exactly that hue, his own matching Christmas sweater, a dumb tradition that their parents had forced on them for three or four years straight. Those sweaters had been the ugliest of all, and all throughout that winter he had been petrified that somehow someone in his class would see those hideous holiday cards his parents had sent out featuring a family portrait with Taiga in the center wearing that horrible green thing.

Of course, there were good memories, too, like Tatsuya’s mother’s annual Christmas party where they’d both been forced to wear them and smile for the parade of adults who’d marveled at how cute they looked and how much they’d grown up (and Tatsuya had muttered things under his breath about apparently not being grown up enough to be treated with respect) and after that was done stuffed themselves with candy canes until their mouths were numb from the sharp sweetness and their sticky hands left marks on the wall and they’d wandered off to Tatsuya’s room and fallen asleep watching the snow drift almost aimlessly down from Tatsuya’s bed, faces glowing in the dim light from Tatsuya’s alarm clock.

“Tatsuya.”

“Hm?”

He’s still holding out the sweater; the box is still on the ground between them. Taiga reaches over anyway, catching Tatsuya’s free hand in his. He lifts it to his lips. Tatsuya’s fingers curl tighter around Taiga’s and he steps over the box, dropping the sweater. His foot is so close to Taiga’s that Taiga can feel the warmth radiating from it on the cool wood floor, and he’s not surprised when Tatsuya nudges his ankle.

“I love you.”

Tatsuya smiles. “I love you, too.”


	2. Chapter 1

It's been a mild fall this year, no snow yet and it's already the end of November (they had snow on Halloween last year; it was weird coming back after a night of trick-or-treating through his building and watching the snow fall through the living room window while he'd stuffed candy bars into his mouth) and weather that stays comfortably above freezing. Nevertheless, Taiga's parents have been making sure he's bundled up in his puffy coat with mittens and hat and scarf every morning before he goes to school. It's colder than any fall he can remember back home, but it's still more than a little bit embarrassing to walk down the street dressed like this, especially when some of the other kids in class can convince their parents to let them wear lighter coats that suit the weather and don't impair their movement at recess (he can take off his coat, but the eagle-eyed recess monitors will blow their whistles and yell at him and threaten him with detention and it's just not worth it for the few seconds of playing basketball).

His dad's more lax about it than his mom, though; Taiga bugs him about it for half an hour before Tatsuya and Alex are supposed to come over and he finally gives up, telling Taiga to just not complain if he's too cold. He'll be ice skating, though, so even if the walk to and from the train station is bad he'll be moving around most of the time—he's prepared to explain this to his dad but he doesn't even have to bring it up to chip away at his patience. Tatsuya and Alex still aren't here, though; Taiga sighs and leans back on the couch, pointing his toes and stretching his arms out. He's getting hungry again, even if he just had two bowls of cereal, and on top of that he's been really looking forward to this; he doesn't get to go ice skating very often and he and Tatsuya and Alex have all been so busy that it seems like forever since they've all gotten together and done anything. His dad reaches out to ruffle his hair.

"They'll be here soon."

"I know…"

Taiga scuffs the floorboard with his pointed toe. Hanging out with his dad is better than with his mom because he doesn't get lectures about how the unfinished flooring will give him splinters—he knows they might, but sometimes they don't and he just doesn't want to sit still, and he's not even scuffing his good shoes or anything.

The buzzer rings and Taiga sits up straight. His father gets up and makes his way over to the door to answer it, exchanges words with Alex over the intercom; Taiga races over to join him and starts putting on his socks.

"Easy there," his dad says. "They might want to come in for a bit."

Taiga sighs. "I can put my socks and my sweater on, though."

His father doesn't comment, leaning on the doorframe. He looks kind of imposing like that—a guy in Taiga's class had told him that his dad looked really scary, and while his knee-jerk reaction was to defend his dad (even though the classmate had told him it was actually kind of cool) he'd have to agree. His dad is big and strong and always frowning (Taiga's mom says it's because he's always thinking about work)—but it's a kind of tough that people don't want to mess with. It would be nice if Taiga was that tough-looking himself, but somehow he just isn't, even though everyone always comments on how much he looks like his dad. Taiga sighs again and shoves his sweater over his head, and the doorbell rings.

He remembers to bow to Tatsuya and Alex properly before pulling Tatsuya inside.

"I don't have to wear my heavy coat today!"

Tatsuya tilts his head. "Won't you get cold, though?"

"Nope. If I do, I'm not going to complain."

Tatsuya frowns. "I don't want you to be cold."

"You sound like Mom. Seriously, it's warm out."

"Are you going to wear a scarf?"

Tatsuya isn't even wearing his scarf, or even gloves, just a light jacket and a ski cap. But the kind of urgency in his eyes and voice makes Taiga swallow.

"Okay."

Tatsuya smiles, light and easy, and ruffles his hair. The feeling of Tatsuya's fingers against his scalp is pleasant, and he almost leans into the touch like a cat.

With Tatsuya's help, he gets out his lighter fall coat from the closet, as well as his hat and his longest scarf. It feels nice when Tatsuya puts on his scarf for him, winding it loosely around his neck a few times before tying it into a sloppy but secure knot. It's actually kind of fashionable (or at least it feels like it).

Taiga's dad grins. "Looking sharp. Have fun, kids."

"We will," they chorus.

* * *

Taiga's still small enough to duck under the turnstiles, and Alex says it's fine if Tatsuya does, too, but he nervously looks at the station agent in the booth, who looks busy arguing with a customer about the free rides that come with a $15 MetroCard, and then swipes the card his mom gave him and walks through. Taiga doesn't really get why he'd want to pay, but a lot of things Tatsuya does are puzzling and he's not sure how to even begin put it all together (he's always been like this; even when Taiga manages to piece him together a little bit the size of the puzzle seems to get bigger and the pieces more complex). They wait on the platform and Alex keeps walking to the edge to peer down the tunnel for a train. Taiga and Tatsuya stay back against the wall and watch the people across the platform, the homeless woman sleeping on the bench and the teenage girls in flowered skirts giggling and the parents trying to keep their children all together. Finally, they hear a familiar rumble and Alex flashes them the thumbs up. A few seconds later, the creaking train pulls into the station.

Taking the subway with Alex is always exciting; Taiga feels just a little bit more grown up and holds his head just a little bit higher, even when he's sitting down and watching the fringe dangling from Tatsuya's hat swing with the sway of the train as it moves sluggishly through the tunnel— the weekend construction never seems to make anything better; all it does is make the trains slow to a crawl. Tatsuya sighs, and Alex flicks his cheek.

"We'll get there."

"I know."

There's something that Taiga can't quite pin down about the way Tatsuya purses his lips, the way his left eye almost peeks out from behind his bangs, the way his hat frames his face, something captivating. He catches Taiga's eye and Taiga blushes; the moment feels close and somehow special.

"Hmm?" Tatsuya leans in a little closer.

Taiga shakes his head. It's too hard to explain.

* * *

It's taking him a while to get used to the feeling of skates on his feet and the ground underneath him giving way to the blades; it's kind of like rollerblading but not really and he hasn't even done that in a while, not since he outgrew his last pair of rollerblades in July, and he wobbles and falls before he can really get started. Tatsuya's much more graceful and smooth on his feet, and not for the first time Taiga wishes he was as comfortable in his own skin and on his own feet as Tatsuya is with his. Still, Tatsuya's patient with him, hauls him up to his feet even if he nearly falls over in the process over and over again until everything clicks and he starts really being able to go forward.

Soon enough, it feels as if he's flying around the rink, still occasionally falling or skidding. He can go pretty fast and he always gets up quickly enough, although Tatsuya still waits for him and still offers a hand that he usually takes even though he's at the point where he could just jump back up. Alex is mostly doing her own thing, stopping by to check in on them and occasionally offering to skate along slowly enough to keep time with their much shorter legs, but Tatsuya waves her off each time. Taiga and Tatsuya race to the entrance, to the cones, to a particular spot on the boards, until they're red-faced and out of breath. Then they just skate a while, talking about basketball and school and video games and Christmas lists and nothing in particular, and when Taiga's ankles start to wobble and he can't keep upright and his throat starts to hurt from hoarseness Tatsuya pulls him along for a little bit, still steady and confident on his feet until he's tired, too, and then Alex pulls them both for a while, the three of them holding hands in a lopsided circle that somehow works.

Alex makes them pose for pictures, takes them with a disposable camera that Tatsuya says is left over from her summer trip to the west coast—it seems like a dramatic transition, at least from what Alex's postcards had said about the beaches and from the tan she'd come back with, to this—scarves and hats and skates and ice, even if Alex is still wearing shorts and a sweater in this kind of weather (a middle-aged woman mutters something derisive about young people and the weather and responsibility and Tatsuya's grip on Taiga's hand stiffens—Taiga tries to reassuringly squeeze back but Tatsuya still frowns).

Taiga's stomach growls (he'd forgotten how hungry he was) and Tatsuya turns to Alex; when he speaks his voice is quiet and controlled.

"What are we doing for lunch?"

She claps her hands and grins. "It's a surprise."

"A surprise?"

"Yeah, you'll find out when we get there. But first you have to put on your shoes and return your skates, okay?"

Taiga nods, and turns to Tatsuya. Alex disappears to go find the locker with her own shoes.

"I bet we're going out," says Tatsuya.

"Really?"

He nods and Taiga grins. It's not that going back to Alex's apartment is bad; they all usually cook together and it's fun, but going out really is a special treat. With renewed vigor, Taiga turns to his skates and starts to unlace them.

* * *

Tatsuya's right—the surprise turns out to be a diner just outside the park, small and cozy and inviting, where they all get sandwiches and chips. The food is delicious, and though Tatsuya ribs him gently about eating too fast Taiga tells him that he's still enjoying it anyway (and Tatsuya ends up giving Taiga some of his chips). When they're done Alex orders them all hot chocolate. The mugs are huge, too big and heavy for Taiga or Tatsuya to pick up with just one hand, and topped with generous piles of whipped cream and marshmallows, and the chocolate is rich and creamy. Taiga looks down for a second at the table and when he looks up Tatsuya's shoving a napkin in his face and rubbing it on his nose.

"What was that for?"

"You had whipped cream on your nose."

"Oh." Taiga feels his face flushing. "Thanks."

Alex laughs, leaning back against the booth, and Taiga laughs, too, not sure what's so funny, only that he likes the feeling. Even Tatsuya joins in, and his eyes sparkle like Taiga's mother's gaudiest earrings and even though he's done with his hot chocolate he feels a warmth spreading through him.

They take the subway back home, and he leans his head against Tatsuya, still full and warm and happy. Tatsuya's arm around his shoulders is secure and strong and tight, and there's no need to talk right now; it's enough just to stare at the tunnel graffiti outside the window and feel the gentle rock of the train on the tracks.


	3. Chapter 2

Tatsuya wakes to the smell of fresh coffee, calling to him even inside the cocoon of warmth that only sleeping under a down comforter can provide. He forces himself to sit up, letting the sharp breeze from the half-open window hit him—he really, really wants to lie back down next to Taiga and close his eyes again, but the prospect of cold, burnt coffee in two hours is so unappealing he manages to resist, even when he sees how peacefully Taiga is sleeping.

He's sprawled out in one of the awkward positions he always seems to end up in, hugging the pillow and clutching the edge of the blanket like a shy child hanging onto a mother's hand. It's adorable; Tatsuya smiles and pushes the hair back from Taiga's forehead. Taiga doesn't move—typical. Tatsuya gives him one last look before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and placing his feet on the cold wood boards, resisting a shudder.

It's a quiet morning, even for a Sunday; enough light filters through the overcast sky and the kitchen window to pour the coffee and cream by, and though it's not exactly gloomy it's still kind of subdued; the clouds look weighed down but not ominous. Taiga's still asleep when Tatsuya returns to the bedroom; he's now buried face-down in the pillow. Tatsuya leans back against the headboard and takes a sip of coffee; it's like a hot left hook to the roof of his mouth, a good kind of strong, flowing down his throat and through his body. Taiga shifts, rolling toward Tatsuya and butting his head against Tatsuya's hip.

"You awake?"

Taiga mumbles something incoherent, nuzzling into Tatsuya's lap. Tatsuya absently strokes his hair, tucking a few locks behind his ear and attempting to smooth down a few cowlicks.

"I made coffee."

This gets Taiga to raise his head a few inches and blink, eyes half-vacant and mouth half-open. He rolls back onto his other side, groping at the night table for a few seconds before he picks up his mug. He almost spills it when he moves back next to Tatsuya, brushing his toes against Tatsuya's ankles.

"Jesus, your legs are cold," he says through a yawn.

"I'm not the one who left the window open."

"You could have closed it," he grumbles, and then yawns again.

His hair is still sticking up at odd angles in the back and his eyes are still bleary; he leans against Tatsuya and clutches his coffee cup, staring into its depths. Tatsuya lightly kicks at his shin; he doesn't move it away but he tries to give Tatsuya a half-scowl (the affection shows through too easily; it's a good effort for him this early in the morning, though).

"Is it snowing yet?"

"No. It's not supposed to until this afternoon."

"Mm." He gulps down a sip of coffee, tapping the fingers of his free hand on Tatsuya's thigh.

Of course they're going to go out in it—Taiga always acts like a kid whenever it snows, dragging him out as soon as there's enough to coat the sidewalks and trying to catch flakes on his tongue and convincing Tatsuya to help him build families of tiny snow figures in the park (there's rarely enough for a full-size snowman) and pulling him down into the snowbanks so they both get melting snow and ice down the backs of their shirts but they lie there together anyway, looking up at the snow-covered tree branches and the bright grey sky above them and Tatsuya always wishes it was just a little less cold and public so he could get away with sliding his hand under Taiga's coat and sweater and shirt inconspicuously.

But since they're inside, they might as well take that chance now. Tatsuya sets down his mug and scoots closer to Taiga, pressing his lips against Taiga's neck and feeling him swallow, relishing in the way his arm winds its way around Tatsuya's waist. Tatsuya lightly nips at Taiga's skin, not enough to leave a mark but enough to make him yelp as Tatsuya's teeth scrape down the slope of his throat and his tongue darts out between the cold metallic tang of Taiga's necklace and the base of his neck. Taiga sighs; he grabs onto the hem of Tatsuya's shirt and pulls him closer, halfway into his lap. Tatsuya pauses, cupping Taiga's cheeks rough with stubble in his hands, chain of the necklace between his teeth. The pads of his fingers brush the bottoms of Taiga's ears and Taiga moans, closing his eyes and letting his grip on Tatsuya's shirt fall away, sinking against the headboard. Tatsuya crawls closer, letting the chain fall from his mouth and meeting his lips with Taiga's, tastes the coffee and cream on his tongue. Taiga recovers, starts to suck on Tatsuya's bottom lip. Tatsuya's hands brush against Taiga's nipples through the thin fabric of his t-shirt; Taiga's breath hitches and Tatsuya smirks into the kiss. Taiga pulls back, presses a kiss against Tatsuya's chin and then a row down his neck to the neckline of his shirt and sinks in his teeth, and Tatsuya hisses and arches his back, feeling his nails scrape against Taiga's hips. Taiga starts to play with the worn-out elastic on Tatsuya's pajama pants, slips a hand inside and pinches Tatsuya's ass.

Tatsuya sighs, dragging his knuckles across Taiga's jaw, squirming against his hand. Taiga laughs into Tatsuya's chest and Tatsuya slides back to his side of the bed, crossing his arms in mock-annoyance.

"Don't you have practice soon?"

Taiga's still smirking; he ignores Tatsuya's question and scoots over next to him, raising a hand to Tatsuya's shoulder, palming it like a basketball (his hands are so damn big). He presses another kiss to Tatsuya's neck, where it meets his jaw, trailing up the side of his face. Tatsuya pulls back and Taiga's already flushed, lips parted and half-swollen and eyes already starting to cloud over. He's so transparent, but damn if it isn't attractive.

"I want you," he murmurs, pulling Tatsuya back into his arms, hands pressing at Tatsuya's back through his shirt, and the simplicity of the statement almost completely disarms Tatsuya (somehow, he's never prepared for this rush of straightforward honesty even if he knows to expect no less from Taiga).

He slides his hands up under Taiga's shirt; the muscles of Taiga's stomach turn concave under his fingertips and Tatsuya smiles against Taiga's neck. He wants Taiga, too, wants this now even when they're both still half-asleep—Taiga flops back down against the sheets, bringing Tatsuya down on top of him. Taiga groans and Tatsuya kisses the corner of his mouth, traces his palm over Taiga's torso until he finds Taiga's hand and entwines their fingers. Taiga squeezes his hand and they lie there for a few seconds, breathing harder than they should be. Then Taiga rolls to one side, enveloping Tatsuya in his warmth. Tatsuya sighs, and then Taiga kisses him again, this time soft and deliberate and deep enough to make his toes curl.

* * *

It's early evening by the time Taiga gets back from practice, and the snow is falling thick and fast and stinging—Tatsuya goes out to the bodega to get more milk and a sandwich and kind of wishes he didn't, what with the way his breath catches in his throat and it feels like his face is being pricked with thousands of microscopic needles out there. Taiga doesn't take off his jacket, though, doesn't even want to wait and have some coffee before he goes back out. The snowflakes are still sticking to the hood of his jacket and his eyebrows and his cheeks are flushed and cold to the touch, but his eyes are sparkling and he looks so happy and ready and Tatsuya really can't think of an excuse to delay it any longer.

Taiga takes his hand before he's finished locking the door, and Tatsuya feels a warm rush of affection like the way the coffee had felt this morning, spreading through him even with Taiga's fingertips as damp and cold as they are.

The snowfall has slowed a little bit when they get outside; the sky is darkening and street lights and headlights illuminate the flakes, coming down less harshly and landing in their hair.

"All my teammates were complaining about going back home and shoveling," Taiga says.

Tatsuya snorts. "Do all of them live in Westchester?"

"Yeah. Well, one of them lives in Riverdale, but…"

Taiga shrugs and they fall into silence; the passing of cars on the avenue is diminished by the blanket of snow and they wait for the light.

"Aren't you glad we didn't buy that brownstone, though?" says Tatsuya. "Think about shoveling the steps."

Taiga nods slowly. They cross the street into the park; the snow is falling even more slowly and quietly than before. A few children struggle by them on the way back, carrying well-worn plastic sleds out of the park, all alike, like astronauts in their puffy snowsuits. Tatsuya squeezes Taiga's hand.

They walk through the trampled path under the trees and the sky grows darker, the street lamps more distinct and illuminating. More children and some adults pass but do not pay them any mind. The few green plants that managed to survive the frost so far are buried under a white sheet, and even though the path beneath their feet is grey from the trampling of dirty soles there's a soft sparkle to it. There's nothing inherently special about cold weather or snow itself, but here it's different. It's like a secret garden secluded from the city even though the passing cars are less than twenty feet away and it's open to the public, even if anyone could see them—bundled up like this in the dim light, they're impossible to pinpoint as anything other than just two people, though.

Tatsuya picks up a handful of snow; it slips through the cracks in his hands, too powdery to really stick together in any sort of shape. Taiga drops his hand and bends down to pick up a pile in his arms; most of it just falls but some of it sticks to his coat; he looks ridiculous. Tatsuya laughs and kicks a drift; the powder rises into the air and blows like desert sand, dissipating behind him. It's pretty; it always is—he kicks another pile and watches it blow through the air, sparkling in the dim light. Taiga laughs, too, catching Tatsuya's hand in his (now cold and wet) again.

"You're all cold," Tatsuya murmurs, and even with the way the snow absorbs the sounds around them Taiga hears him, brings up his other hand to caress Tatsuya's cheek.

Tatsuya shudders, lightly pushing Taiga away. Taiga lets the momentum carry him a few steps and then makes his way back, jostles Tatsuya's shoulder. Tatsuya elbows him and starts walking ahead, smiling but keeping his face turned away. He reaches for Taiga's hand and gets it within a few seconds; the coldness is a little bit more tolerable this time (it helps that Taiga naturally radiates warmth like an old laptop with a broken fan) and even if it weren't he'd still want this.

After a while, Taiga drops Tatsuya's hand to wade through an untouched drift until he hits a bench, kicking at it a few times to dislodge some of the snow and brushing off some of the rest before sitting down; in the dim light Tatsuya can see the outlines of some of the slats. He follows, placing his boots in the prints left by Taiga's larger feet, hopping over the back of the bench and settling in Taiga's lap. Tatsuya throws a cursory glance around; he can't see anyone in range. He leans in and kisses Taiga; he tastes cold and clean. Taiga slips their hands back together, locking their fingers, and Tatsuya snuggles closer—even if he can't feel the contours of Taiga's torso through their heavy coats and sweaters, he can pretend he can (and he's memorized the way Taiga feels by now anyway) and he can feel the warmth of Taiga's skin against his even in the cold and the dark.


	4. Chapter 3

His mother slams the door of the cab and leans forward to tell the driver where to go; Tatsuya huddles closer against the door on his side and stares out the window at the other cars in the street rushing by.

“Don’t press your face to the glass. And put on your seatbelt.”

Tatsuya sighs and slumps back against the seat, roughly grabbing at the buckle and pulling it across his body. He doesn’t really want to spend another evening at a show with his parents; he likes classical music well enough but there’s no point in getting dressed up and sitting with his back straight for a few hours while his parents drink and flirt with each other. He’s long since old enough to stay home by himself, and they hadn’t even asked him if he wanted to go before wasting their money on an extra ticket.

They probably just want to get him out of the house, though; he’s overheard them talking in worried voices at night, creeping down the hall toward the kitchen to grab a late snack when he should be asleep, about how he just comes home after practice every day and sleeps and how depressed he seems. After that, he’d lurked outside of school and gotten into a few fights on a couple of days he knew his parents knew he didn’t have practice, texted them and said he’d be hanging out with friends—they still worry, though; he can see it in their eyes (and sometimes it’s hard to hide the bruises). Honestly, they should be happy he doesn’t have that much of a life, though. It’s not like he’s out on the streets at 2 AM shooting up heroin or something. He sighs, blowing his bangs out of his eyes until they settle back over his face in the familiar pattern. He can tell his mother is looking at him, eyeing him critically in that way she always does when she’s not sure how exactly to criticize him.

Not that he doesn’t deserve criticism for the shit he’s done, but there’s no way he can bring that up with his parents. They don’t want to know how he really feels about Taiga, any of it—the resentment, the bitterness, the envy, and perhaps most of all the want. That kind of thing is kind of gross and weird to talk about with parents (or any kind of adult) in the first place, isn’t it? And besides, what does it matter when Taiga doesn’t want him, will never want him in the same way? Bringing these things to light unnecessarily would just be, well, pointless, especially when his parents might tell Taiga’s dad or Alex or someone else and the whole thing will grow out of control like those invasive species he’s been reading about in biology. Or maybe it’s gotten to that point already; maybe all of these feelings are like kudzu, growing inside him and choking out the things that are supposed to be there, the brotherly affection and generosity and wanting what’s best for Taiga. He’d let them fester for too long; they’re too strong and tangled now to be stopped until they eat themselves and kill him from the inside out. It’s kind of a romantic way to die, at least. He stops the pained smile from growing on his face, grits his teeth and looks at the wheels on the truck in the next lane, watches the tires turn against the salted blacktop and wishes that Taiga were here beside him—it would hurt twice as much but it would be worth it, even if Taiga didn’t speak to him at all.

“I spoke to Kagami-san the other day,” his mother says.

“Oh?” says Tatsuya.

“The divorce has been really hard on him, you know. They’re just finalizing everything now and it’s been two years already.”

Tatsuya nods.

“And it’s been hard on Taiga, too. The poor kid, I can’t even imagine, having your parents break up like that and then getting shipped back to Tokyo…I know you two had a fight but you really should be more patient with him. He’s had a lot to deal with.”

“I know.”

“I can ask his dad for his e-mail address if you don’t have it.”

Tatsuya shrugs. There’s no way Taiga would reply to an e-mail from him at this point; Tatsuya really can’t blame him, though (if he was Taiga he probably wouldn’t open anything from himself).

“Or you can ask Alexandra. I’m sure she knows.”

Why won’t his mom just leave him alone? He stares steadily ahead at the cabbie’s license information taped to the Plexiglas divider, squinting to read the numbers.

“That reminds me. We should really have her over for dinner soon.”

Tatsuya nods and turns back to the window to stare at the median, the bare trees and dead grass and ugly mud a sharp dark brown color like day-old coffee. It was dumb; it was at the wrong time—but there was never really a right time to do anything like that, to hurt anyone (especially someone like Taiga) on purpose. But then again it’s easier to berate himself for hating and wanting Taiga’s talent when he doesn’t have to see it and deal with it on a daily basis, though, and no matter how much he’s failed Taiga as a brother and a friend by walking out on him like that, by hitting him and telling him those things, hadn’t he already failed a thousand times worse? No one should ever want his brother in the way Tatsuya wants Taiga; no one should ever want his brother’s skin against his own like that or want those eyes to see only him or want to press their lips together and touch him in a way that makes him moan. It’s sick; it’s wrong; it’s not supposed to be this way; they were supposed to have a different kind of bond.

And he shouldn’t resent Taiga’s athleticism the way he doe anyways; he’s the one who always says that life isn’t fair, but no matter how much he reminds himself of that it doesn’t make it any easier to wake up in the morning to find that he’s practiced harder than everyone else and fallen a little bit farther behind. It’s not fair that Taiga enjoys the game in the pure way he does, still, because he hasn’t hit that wall and maybe never will—hopefully never will. Even if Tatsuya is overly-resentful, the worst kind of brother and the worst kind of man, he will never wish that on Taiga. Not that Taiga couldn’t deal with it, but it’s the kind of desperate sorrow he would only wish on his worst enemies. He knows, logically, that he’s hitting his ceiling, that no matter how many times he bashes his head against the invisible barrier he’s not going to get much farther, that all he’s doing is making himself hurt even more, and yet he’s afraid to stop trying. If there’s anything he wishes for Taiga it’s peace of mind.

Without Taiga, basketball itself loses a bit of its luster, too. Even though Tatsuya’s loved it on his own for as long as he can remember, the feeling of releasing the heavy orange sphere from his hands and watching it drift upwards and then fall down in its graceful arc, the stinging of his hands when he receives a pass, it’s become so intertwined with Taiga in his mind that it’s hard to race down the court or throw up a shot sometimes because he’s just so intensely reminded of Taiga, of a shot he’d make or a shot he did make or the way his passes felt so much better than his teammates’ passes or the feeling of playing against him, the thrill of competition during the very brief time they were actually evenly matched, before Taiga slowly began to break through the barrier and leave him behind.

And maybe this is better, anyway; maybe it’s better to not have the pain of Taiga leaving him farther and farther behind; it’s better for Taiga that Tatsuya is not calling after him while he can still hear him; it’s better for him to be free. But then again, does he really know what’s best for Taiga? Can he make that claim anymore? Could he ever? What he really wants for Taiga, the desire locked deep within him, is certainly not the best—he could do so much better than Tatsuya, even if they had never pretended to be brothers, even if Tatsuya had never shattered everything between them.

God, this ring feels heavy around his neck. He can’t take it off, though; it would mean giving up on Taiga completely and he just can’t do that. Even if he succumbs to an ocean and a half of self-loathing, even if Taiga is halfway around the world, even if they haven’t spoken in years, he won’t let himself give up just yet. And it’s the holiday season, isn’t it? It’s a season for wishing, and even though it’s supposed to be for things like peace on earth he desperately wishes that Taiga still wears his own ring, too. That he hasn’t forgotten, that he doesn’t want to forget.

His mother pats him on the shoulder. “I’m sure whatever it is you fought about, you’ll be able to make up. Right now, what he needs is a friend.”

It’s easy for her to say, easy for her to think that Tatsuya still has the capacity to be a good friend to him. Tatsuya sighs.

“You shouldn’t keep your hair in your face, anyway,” say his mom, moving her hand up to smooth the hair away from his eye.

Tatsuya scowls. “I always wear my hair like this.”

“But you look so handsome; you should show off your face.”

Tatsuya scoots as close as he can toward the window; his mother drops her hand.

“Fine. I’m only trying to help you.”

“Thanks.”

It sounds bitter and sarcastic; he doesn’t try to correct it and his mother raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. She’s probably happy that he’s at least talking to her or something. He almost sighs again; he doesn’t mean to make his parents worry. All in all, he’s a useless son as well as a useless brother. What has he even done for his parents lately other than cost them money and make them anxious?

“I’m sorry.”

His mother nods. They don’t speak for the rest of the ride, letting the cab fill with the Spanish talk radio from the driver’s preferred station until they reach the theater. His mom pays and they get out; he lets her rearrange his hair this time and she smiles a little bit wider at him and brushes some non-existent lint from his jacket and kisses him on the cheek (he’s now as tall as she is when she’s wearing heels, and there’s something kind of unnerving about it, and no matter how much he wants to be treated like an adult there’s a feeling that this is going too fast, that he might not be ready for this).

He spends the whole concert spacing out, watching the dim lights sparkle off the ice cubes in his father’s drinking glass while the perfectly-tuned instruments build up a rapport with each other, the performers in stoic synchronicity. They’re probably presenting themselves too seriously for this particular piece, but no one’s really going to remember that. They’ll remember the notes and the rhythms and the delicate changes in tempo. Actually, Tatsuya’s more than a little bit glad his parents bought him the ticket, even if Taiga’s still floating back and forth inside his mind. It’s soothing somehow; even if he still has no idea what to do he’s not bordering on the edge of hysteria anymore.

It’s snowing when they get out of the theater; the flakes cling to Tatsuya’s eyelashes and hair but there’s something comforting about the cold, about his breath freezing in the air and the snow melting in tracks like tears on his face, when he’s in such a half-miserable state. It makes him want to believe that if everything won’t be oaky, at least it’ll become bearable.


	5. Chapter 4

Tatsuya comes to stay with him the first weekend in December; he's only applying to American schools and thus his schedule is a lot freer than all the seniors at Seirin (he's still got a bigger workload than Taiga does, although that's not counting all the time Taiga spends at basketball practice) and probably the ones at his own school. Taiga feels like apologizing for the mild Tokyo weather but Tatsuya shakes him off, telling him that it doesn't matter as long as they're together and Taiga's heart violently constricts in his chest because he doesn't know in what way Tatsuya means it and he doesn't want to hope too hard that it's in the way he wants it to be. Ever since he and Tatsuya made up, the old feelings have been rushing through his veins and he's been powerless to stop them; this middle school crush that he'd thought he trampled out is back, raging in full-force, building every time Tatsuya so much as smiles at him. It's simultaneously thrilling and awful, just as they're beginning to repair what little remains of their relationship he has to be waylaid by feelings that he should not have for someone he calls his brother.

Things are too complicated but at the same time some part of Taiga's okay with it. Even if nothing ever happens with him and Tatsuya romantically, he'll still be able to look at him like this for a little bit, be physically close with him (perhaps not as much as when they were kids but there are things you can get away with when you're eight and nine that just aren't done when you're seventeen and eighteen). He'll still be able to hear Tatsuya's laugh and the quiet way he speaks honestly sometimes, rare in and of itself but infinitely precious. And they can still play basketball together.

Murasakibara's in Tokyo, too, visiting with his parents, and Taiga calls Kuroko who calls Aomine and they play ball (Kuroko refuses to play, only referee). They start with Tatsuya and Murasakibara against him and Aomine, but Kuroko stops them before they can finish a play and switches it up, Murasakibara and Aomine against Taiga and Tatsuya. Murasakibara looks very skeptical.

"I want to play with Muro-chin," he whines. "Please?"

"Really, it's fine," says Tatsuya.

"It's not you two I'm worried about," says Kuroko.

Taiga feels a little miffed—but he wouldn't have to be too hard-pressed to admit that it's difficult for he and Aomine to share the ball with each other, and that every time they've tried it previously it's ended in disaster.

"I don't want to be punished for Mine-chin's problem," says Murasakibara.

"Who has a problem?"

Kuroko glares at him and Aomine sighs. "Whatever. I just want to play."

Kuroko turns to Murasakibara, who gives an indifferent shrug and shuffles over next to Aomine.

Taiga can't wipe the grin from his face as he turns to Tatsuya (he still can't get over how weird it is to look down at his face, to see Tatsuya looking up through his lashes like that and how fucking gorgeous he looks) and Tatsuya smiles back.

"You ready?" Taiga asks, half in amazement that his voice doesn't break.

"Are you?" Tatsuya counters.

Taiga nods, holds out his hand for a fist bump and Tatsuya meets it with pale, clenched knuckles.

The matchup seems more even than it should—after going toe-to-toe with Aomine for a while Taiga falls back and lets Tatsuya handle him; surprisingly Aomine doesn't just go after Taiga and lets Tatsuya try to get the better of him. It's all for the better, really, because Taiga finds himself unable to react quite as fast when he's looking this closely at Tatsuya, the raw intensity of his face and the way his lean body moves with the ball, exactly the opposite of Aomine—polished, proper, fundamentally sound; his form is perfect and perfectly wonderful to watch, the outline of his toned arms against the sky and the way his wrists snap into position as he shoots, how low he gets when he dribbles and the precision of his legs in relation to the ball, and the stare he gives at Aomine when he's trying to figure out his next move—Aomine plays enough like Taiga for Tatsuya to guess right some of the time and either delay him enough for Taiga to swoop in and steal the ball or outright block him (although that's only once or twice; even a year and a half of the Yosen system can't prepare anyone for Aomine, really).

It's not like watching Tatsuya is really hurting Taiga's game, though; defending against Murasakibara is relatively easy for both of them; all he does is pass the ball back to Aomine. This whole routine stops after about fifteen minutes, though, when Murasakibara's got the ball and Tatsuya's trying to guard him. He surveys the scene, ignores the way Taiga's leaving Aomine half-open, plows past Tatsuya, and dunks the ball.

"Mine-chin's offense sucks. I don't want to have to do this, but…" he shrugs.

He proceeds to steal the ball from Aomine multiple times, throw down a few more dunks and finally hit a nice three over Taiga's highest leap, after which he proclaims the game over.

Taiga's not particularly mad about it, other than that no matter how much he grows Murasakibara is still so much taller than he is. He's getting the best of Aomine more often than not, and it's fun—being challenged, playing with Tatsuya the way they used to (even if there's nothing at stake), running up and down the court until he's halfway out of breath.

Murasakibara slinks off back to his parents' place, and Tatsuya doesn't try to get a word in with him and Taiga's more than a little bit pleased with this. He tries not to smile and pump his fist; his hand ends up twitching and Aomine gives him a look before heading off himself. Kuroko walks back with them, and all of them are quiet. It's a little bit awkward; he gets the sense that Kuroko and Tatsuya don't really get along all that well, although they're always cordial with each other.

When Kuroko splits off from them, he looks Taiga square in the eye with that horribly unnerving stare of his. "Good luck, Kagami-kun."

Taiga almost chokes on his breath, manages to wave to Kuroko as he turns and walks away. Is it that obvious? Yeah, probably. But Tatsuya hasn't said anything, or even given as much as a hint that he knows. He doesn't comment on this, either, but he shoots Taiga a smile and Taiga's heart does something horrible inside his chest and he unconsciously reaches up to grip the ring around his neck. Shit.

Tatsuya only speaks once Kuroko's turned the corner.

"I'm sorry. You could have stood a better chance with one of them on your team."

He's still thinking about that? Taiga supposes that he really shouldn't be surprised; Tatsuya is still Tatsuya, still a cutthroat competitor even when there's little or nothing at stake, even when they probably won't remember who won in a few months, anyway.

"It doesn't matter. I'd rather play with you than with them, anyway."

Tatsuya looks up at him, lips pressing into a thin line.

"We'll win next time, okay?"

He says it half out of desperation, half out of hope that they'll have a next time. Something about it lifts Tatsuya's spirits, makes his features soften. "Okay."

* * *

They cook dinner together, fried chicken and rice and a tossed salad; he'd forgotten how nice it is to cook with Tatsuya even if he's messy as hell and spills batter all over the counter and ends up spilling flour on Taiga's sweater and they have to open all the windows so the smoke alarm doesn't go off from the chicken and the kitchen is too small for both of them to stand over the stove at once. He usually gets self-conscious about cooking in front of others, but Tatsuya's different, has a way of making Taiga feel more comfortable even than he usually does in the kitchen alone. The way they cook is almost like the way they play basketball with none of the awkward resentment and confusion; he'll wash the peppers and wish he had the right knife and then Tatsuya's already placed it by the cutting board or Tatsuya will be turning the chicken and need more oil and before he puts the tongs down Taiga will uncap the bottle and hand it to him. They don't need words or even gestures to communicate, really; they know each other's motions and thoughts too well after so long (even with their years apart, they somehow manage to fill in the gaps)—and yet, despite all of this, Taiga's desperate romantic feelings don't seem to reach him. He doesn't see them or hear them or acknowledge them or reciprocate them; it's like they're seeing each other from opposite sides of the stove right after taking the lid off the pot of rice, like there's a layer of steam between them and Tatsuya's not looking for the feelings so he's not going to even guess at them in the first place.

It's frustrating; the meal is good but it's hard for him to enjoy completely, and this part at least gets through to Tatsuya. He puts a hand on Taiga's shoulder, and those slim fingers—Taiga wishes they could stay longer than they do.

"Is everything okay?"

How can he say it?

"I don't want you to go back." It's not even half of the truth, and it's still kind of embarrassing to admit; he feels his cheeks and ears heat up.

Tatsuya's hand slips down to cover his on the table; he strokes the side of Taiga's finger with his thumb. Taiga can barely breathe like this; it's horribly unfair and for a second he wonders if Tatsuya knows exactly what he's doing here.

"I don't want to go back, either," says Tatsuya. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"I'm not alone," says Taiga. "I have my friends and stuff."

Tatsuya looks at him and Taiga glances away.

"You know you can call me whenever you need anything, right?"

Taiga nods. Tatsuya squeezes his hand.

* * *

They spend the next morning lazing around in their pajamas; Taiga makes them eggs over easy for breakfast and they watch dumb TV on the couch and laugh at ridiculous things that aren't actually funny and make dumb, snarky cracks about the host's hair and tone of voice and the smile rarely slips from Tatsuya's face and he is so close to Taiga on the couch that Taiga can feel the warmth from his body, can get a good glance at the flat of his wrist and his open palm, the contours of his hand, remember the way it felt around his own hand last night and how very much he wants those thinner fingers to be laced in his like mesh right now, how they'd probably warm him up twice as much as this mug of tea.

He still hasn't approached the subject, but there's no real way to say it, especially when Tatsuya's going back to Akita in a few hours and probably won't be back for another few months (if he doesn't just go straight home after he graduates, which Taiga really wouldn't blame him for). It would be too awkward, the wrong way to start this—and maybe it's fading; maybe the next time they see each other the feelings will be gone and in the past, even if a larger part of him than he'll admit doesn't want those feelings to go away. As scary and stressful as they are, there's something about them, something about Tatsuya, that makes him just want and want and want until he's sure he can never desire anything else.

Taiga sits on the bed while Tatsuya gathers his things, throwing them sloppily back into his duffel bag (he packs as haphazardly as he cooks; somehow his clothes never end up wrinkled) and clutches the edge of the sheet, feeling the tension in his hands rise. He stares at the chain around Tatsuya's neck, poking out from under the collar of his shirt, tarnished but sturdy; he wants to wind his fingers through it, wants to link it with his own chain so Tatsuya can't go anywhere, even a foot or so away from him.

Tatsuya zips up his bag and stands. Taiga stands, too, and before Tatsuya can hoist the bag over his shoulder Taiga reaches over and hugs him. Tatsuya stiffens in his arms, and then slowly relaxes against Taiga and hugs him back, wrapping his arms tightly around Taiga's waist and burying his face in the crook of Taiga's neck.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?"

Tatsuya looks up. "You either. Seriously, call me anytime. Text me. E-mail me. Come to Akita."

Taiga makes a face. "But it's so cold."

"Brat," says Tatsuya.

He steps back and picks up his bag. "I'll text you when the train gets in, okay?"

Taiga smiles. "Okay."

Maybe they're getting somewhere.


	6. Chapter 5

He's standing at the baggage carousel, staring at his phone when a pair of arms wrap around his waist and Taiga's face is pressed into the back of his neck and the rush is sudden, staggering, he folds backwards against Taiga's chest, clasps his hands over Taiga's, waits for Taiga's head to bend around the side of his neck and trail kisses over his shoulder so he can properly nip at Taiga's ear and whisper him a greeting.

Taiga straightens up and lets Tatsuya turn around and look at him properly, clasps Tatsuya's hands inside of his. He's even more attractive than Tatsuya remembers him being (and it's been, what, less than a month?) even with a heavy coat on; his eyes are shining and his jaw is strong and he might have gotten taller again and the way those jeans show off the definition in his thighs is phenomenal (maybe that one's just Tatsuya's overactive imagination).

"I missed you so much."

The words roll through Tatsuya like sticks on a snare drum and he can't resist letting the smile break across his face. "I missed you, too, but you're going to miss your luggage."

He leans up to give Taiga a quick kiss anyway; perhaps he shouldn't because it's then he remembers the salty way Taiga tastes, how soft his lips are even when they're chapped, the way Taiga's teeth feel against his tongue and the way Taiga leans into him. It's very hard to break the kiss and turn away, but it's kind of satisfying to be able to feel the heat radiating from Taiga's face and the way he still clings tightly to Tatsuya's hand. They pull Taiga's giant suitcase from the luggage carousel together even though Taiga has no problem with it on his own—he really has gotten so much stronger playing college ball; it's astounding to compare him with the way he was just a few years ago, the way he carries himself with greater confidence, lighter on his feet even with the additional muscle, the way pushing heavy doors is effortless for him. It's fascinating; it's fantastic; he's fantastic.

They wait in line for a cab outside along with all the other people home for the holidays, young children clinging to their parents and business people in wrinkled suits with bags under their eyes and college students in sweatpants and chatty senior citizens and Tatsuya snuggles closer to Taiga; under his arm everything feels okay. He doesn't even care that they're in public and that a couple of people are shooting them dirty looks or just openly staring.

"Your place or mine?" Tatsuya asks.

Taiga grins. "Well, Dad's still on a trip for work, so…"

Tatsuya nods, pulling out his phone to text his parents. Taiga presses another kiss to the top of his head and Tatsuya full-out grins. Damn if this isn't ten times as good as he'd always imagined.

The cab ride back is hard, mostly because it's so long and they're stuck in traffic and they're right there together and next to each other and they haven't been with each other properly since the summer (thanks to Taiga's Thanksgiving weekend basketball camp) and it's hard to wait much longer when they're right here, when they can touch each other and kiss each other and hear each other's voices in a quiet murmur in real time, not delayed by the shitty cell phone towers and the propagation delay. The driver keeps glancing in the mirror at them and they keep catching their breaths, trying to move apart but failing to lift hands from thighs and uncross ankles from ankles and break locked gazes. It's a long time, but not as long as they spent apart, between the airport and Taiga's building, and Tatsuya makes sure to tip the driver generously.

They barely make it up the elevator before jumping onto each other; they almost miss their floor but Taiga wedges a foot in the door just as it's closing and they manage to get out and unlock the door before Taiga picks up Tatsuya again. There's a terrifying weightlessness to being in the air so long, something Tatsuya's always felt ambivalent about when it comes to jump shots, and yet when Taiga's holding him it's fine, it's like it only half-registers because he's too busy holding onto Taiga and kissing him until they can't breathe anymore. They might end up doing it with their coats on, but at this point Tatsuya really doesn't care because they have tomorrow and the next day and most of this vacation for themselves, stretching out before them like a transcontinental railroad.

* * *

It's kind of funny how every time he catches Taiga looking at him Taiga flushes a deep scarlet and turns away, awkwardly embarrassed—at this point he really shouldn't be. Funny isn't the right word, though; it's more something painfully adorable, the way the color rushes across his face and concentrates in his cheeks and how it matches his hair and eyes and how Tatsuya's chest seems to choose that moment to rearrange its contents inside of him. He can feel Taiga's stares, too, intense and longing and raw and open, and it's like they're forcing him to turn and meet them. He's kind of addicted to the thrill, though; this never gets old—it never will, if it keeps going.

He blushes when they hold hands sometimes, too, when they're walking down the street and Tatsuya casually slips his hand inside Taiga's loose grip, the one advantage of having hands that are much smaller than his. His face does that cute contortion thing and then he smiles, and coupled with the blush it might as well be the most goddamn radiant thing Tatsuya's ever seen. Sometimes he smiles soft and mellow, though, like when they shop for groceries and Tatsuya finds the perfect tomato or when they're just sitting at a café playing footsie under the table and Tatsuya meets his eyes or when they're just sitting on Tatsuya's couch watching TV.

There's no other way to describe it than how nice it is to just have someone to walk to and from the train station with, to go everywhere with, someone to hold onto when he sees other couples walking down the street, and even that's not even grasping at what this is or what it means at all. Because this is Taiga he's holding onto, Taiga who walks him to the subway, Taiga with whom he thought he'd never get another chance, probably the only person he's ever thought himself capable of loving like this, Taiga whose heart is big enough to love even a guy like Tatsuya with his everything. Part of Tatsuya still can't believe it, still is waiting to wake up from the dream or come down from the high or get out of the coma or turn off the VR machine or whatever the hell kind of delusion this is, but as the days go by it seems more and more real, that this is actually happening. It's the kind of thing he doesn't want to question, because even if it means he's being too greedy he just wants it, wants Taiga, wants Taiga to be his.

They go to the NBA store and make snide remarks about the sale jerseys and geek out over some of the autographed merchandise and before they know it they've burned an hour reminiscing about their favorite players when they were kids and dumb games from back then that they memorized the box scores of and arguments that resurfaced over which players should have gotten assists on which plays and Taiga knows exactly which plays he's talking about and sticks out his lower lip like he's ten again but this time their argument dissolves into kisses stolen under the awning outside the store and Tatsuya taking his very sweet time in zipping up Taiga's jacket for him. The snow is coming down hard at this point and Taiga sticks their joined hands in his coat pocket, and Tatsuya can feel not only the heat from Taiga's hand but the heat from his hip and he wishes it would snow a little bit harder so Taiga would hold his hand a little bit tighter.

They make snowballs in the park like they did when they were kids but that only lasts for so long before they're rolling around in the snow and dirt with each other, cold and wet but not really caring because the rush of the closeness and each other's body heat are keeping them from really feeling it yet. Tatsuya's much more focused on the way Taiga's breath is forming puffs of condensation and his lips are swollen and pouted and his eyes are clouded, on how far up his inner thighs Taiga's hands are sliding and the delicious cold redness of his cheeks. He reaches around and grabs Taiga's ass and Taiga jerks backward, pulling them both deeper into a pile of snow.

"You're the worst," Taiga murmurs fondly into his ear.

Tatsuya smirks and kisses his neck; when his nose and chin touch Taiga's skin Taiga yelps again.

The cold reaches them eventually, though, and after they've made their frostbitten way back Tatsuya draws them a bath.

He hasn't washed Taiga's back since they were little kids, and that had been much, much different—now, it expands before him and it's hard not to admire the rippling of his muscles and the smoothness of his skin under Tatsuya's fingers; he ends up kissing each spot after he washes it and as indulgent as it is it gets a terrific reaction out of Taiga so it's probably worth it, the way he twists around when Tatsuya's only half-done to push the hair away from his face and kiss him on both cheeks. They sit like that, face to face, for a few minutes before Tatsuya returns to washing his back, with the drip of the old faucet into the water and the hissing of the radiator and the pipes in the wall the only sounds until Taiga turns again, and the moment seems to stretch like a rubber band and even their breathing slows down and hushes.

It's a more subdued affair when they get out, drying each other off and making their way into Taiga's bedroom. There's something incredibly satisfying (and even that description doesn't do it justice) about falling asleep like this, in Taiga's shirt under Taiga's sheets, with Taiga's arm around him and the shape of Taiga next to him.

* * *

They eat dinner with Tatsuya's parents, and of all the things they'd done when they were kids this is probably the most different. It used to be on winter evenings they'd swing their legs from the dining chairs and drink juice and watch TV and feel tired because it was dark out but refuse to admit it because it was still a few hours away from bedtime, but here they are talking quietly about politics with Tatsuya's parents and Tatsuya's hand is on Taiga's thigh beneath the table and even though he's fairly certain his parents can tell he doesn't really care.

They like Taiga, both as a person and as Tatsuya's boyfriend; that much is clear. Both of his parents lavish attention on Taiga and ask him questions about his life and Taiga's not used to this stuff but he performs admirably—it helps that he likes Tatsuya's parents a whole lot, too. Tatsuya's terribly proud of the whole thing.

His parents go to bed early and he and Taiga linger in the living room, stare out the window at the buildings across the street, the ice-covered windowsills and venetian blinds in contrast with the red bricks, wind screaming loud enough to be heard through the closed windows. The thought of sending Taiga back out in that makes him wince, but Taiga insists, anyway—his dad will be home in the morning, anyway. They linger in the vestibule, Tatsuya ostensibly helping Taiga with his coat but really taking the chance to kiss him in between every time he winds his long scarf around his neck. Taiga smiles down at him, very fondly, and Tatsuya realizes how much he's grown to appreciate seeing Taiga from this angle. Taiga finishes zipping up his coat and Tatsuya unlocks the door. As he's turning, Tatsuya grabs his elbow.

"Taiga."

When he hears his name, he flushes a brighter red than the bricks on the building outside and Tatsuya grins.

"See you tomorrow."

Taiga leans in to kiss him again.


	7. Chapter 6

Tatsuya’s phone buzzes and he sucks in his breath. It’s stupid; it’s not anything, probably just spam. He takes out his phone, and when he sees the three-digit address he wants to hurl the fucking machine across the room. The goddamn service provider should know better than to text on Christmas Eve—but then again, if they’re thinking at all they’ll assume their customers are out spending time with families or lovers rather than sitting alone in a coffee shop, reading the paper and drinking lukewarm tea as closing time approaches. The barista shoots Tatsuya a glare over the register; he pretends to ignore it and be engrossed in the obituaries.

It’s not like he spent today totally alone; he and Shuu took Shuu’s younger siblings to a movie in the morning and he helped his mom with preparation for tomorrow’s party. And it was good to be distracted, to enjoy things like cartoon aliens and polishing silverware. But the distractions fade and movies end and silverware stays sparkling and his parents want him out of the house for a bit and he can’t even feign interest in this newspaper forever. He shuts it, tossing what’s left of his tea in the trash, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and pushes the door open with his shoulder. Fuck that.

His breath makes a cloud in the air; it’s fucking cold outside but there’s no snow so there’s no point. There’s just the mockery of a sun that sits there and burns into his eyes without warming a thing. There’s some kind of justice or irony or something in there somewhere, but Tatsuya doesn’t feel like finding what it is—he doesn’t really want to know. It’s sinking now, setting over the river and the highway; he abruptly turns uptown and starts walking. The streets are crowded with gawking tourists, so certain every single prewar building is a landmark, every one of them drawn toward midtown like iron filings toward magnetite, not near fast enough. He hunches his shoulders; at least the wind is with him for now.

It’s hard not to think about Taiga when they walked this same stretch of avenue together last year, hand in hand and smiling, when they shot hoop together in the park until they were exhausted and then went back to Taiga’s apartment to soak in the bath for two hours, when no matter how cold it got there was someone to hug him close and hand him a warm mug of tea, when it had all seemed so untouchably perfect like a holiday-card version of real life.

That, of course, had been the undoing of it all, how perfect and wonderful it had been, like both an exhale of a long-held breath and the sweetness of filling his lungs up again. It was sweet, but slowly turned bitter like drinking the chaser before the shot, and the weight of the ring around his neck became heavier, as if it was going to fall like a pendulum, like a noose, and choke him out of existence. This weightlessness made him look down and lose confidence that Taiga would keep him in the air even with the way he jumps, and so he had pulled them down, tripling the force of gravity. He’d fucked up what was probably (definitely) the best thing to ever happen to him; he deserves this bitter loneliness.

And yet, Taiga had let him—he’d expected it would be a harder fight, even though he’d practiced the words in the mirror before dialing Taiga’s number—even through the phone, Taiga knows what he means more than he’s comfortable with anyone else being able to tell. But that time he hadn’t, had swallowed, voice half-cracking as he voiced his acceptance and just like that they were over. Maybe Taiga had been as afraid of falling as he was; maybe Taiga hadn’t felt this genuinely—but Taiga’s a terrible liar, even worse at showing Tatsuya something fake than Tatsuya is at holding the truth back from himself. Even if Tatsuya had wanted to convince himself that Taiga loved him, he couldn’t have kept it up for that long. Taiga’s lips against his were pure and honest; his words had fallen haltingly but sure from his throat; his eyes were steady. He had meant every bit of it, the happiness he wanted to share with Tatsuya, the happiness Tatsuya very much wanted to accept but couldn’t fully bring himself to in the end, the heart that never seems to come close to running out of love.

The wind has turned and is now biting at Tatsuya’s face; he frowns. His eyes are watering with the force of it and he looks up at the street sign. He only has three more blocks to the subway station; there’s no use in walking any farther than that, especially not when the sun is sinking so low. The puddles at the scraped-off street corners will freeze into black ice and the remaining piles of dirty snow on the curbss will get dirtier. It’s too lonely a night to spend in the dark (or at least he’s too much of a coward to walk that far in it; even the blocks from the subway station to his house probably won’t be pleasant). He’d much rather have someone—a particular someone, yes, to hold his hand or be waiting for him when he gets home with a smile and a set of warm arms.

Taiga probably has a new boyfriend, or at least a crush—even though he hasn’t mentioned any in their awkwardly-cordial conversations since the breakup, he’s bound to have caught someone’s eye. He’s always been good at bouncing back from the shit Tatsuya puts him through; this time can’t be too different. Then again, he might be going it alone for now, just him and basketball, and for Taiga that would probably be enough.

He swipes his card and walks through the turnstile. He’s more than used up his share of chances, but he’d wager a hell of a lot to get another one. Even if he doesn’t, perhaps one day the memories won’t be so painful—that’s something to aspire to, at least.

* * *

Taiga blows on his hands and stuffs them back in his pocket. He’s seen Massachusetts on maps before, been there briefly for basketball trips, but he hadn’t realized that it was this much colder than New York. Granted, it’s supposed to be an especially gruesome winter this year but he’d gone home for a few days earlier in the week and it had been more than reasonable, rainy but warm (and not dark at half past four).

But here it is, Christmas Eve and he’s wandering around a strange town in the dark, making his way back to an unfriendly hotel where he’ll fall asleep alone in a giant bed and wake up to spend Christmas with his teammates and get ready for the tournament. It’s not a bad deal; his teammates are a nice group of guys and it’s not like his dad would really have time to spend with him if he went home anyway. But being alone is dangerous; it makes him think of better Christmases, the high school Christmases spent hanging out in the bookstore with Kuroko and Furi or playing one-on-one with Aomine and the childhood Christmases when his mom was still around and last Christmas with Tatsuya.

American Christmas is supposed to be a mix of religion and commercialism, both way over-the-top, and in a way it is, but it’s still in some ways a day for lovers—most of his teammates have gone to a club to pick up hot girls in sexy elf costumes; a few others paid for their girlfriends’ plane tickets; people walk down the streets boldly holding hands like they’re showing off.

It’s no good to be bitter, especially when they’ve managed to make things work as friends (well, sort of) since the breakup—but still, it would be better if his hands weren’t closing around cold air in his pockets or if he’d go back to the hotel alone but wake up to Tatsuya sleeping next to him, the familiar weight of Tatsuya in his arms, the elongated outline of his neck, his hair messy from sleep and covering his whole face—just thinking about it makes the cold walk ahead of him seem longer.

Still, it’s a lot to get over in the three months since they broke up, isn’t it? Even though they’re still in touch, it’s like the fruits of his most awkward, gigantic adolescent crush have been borne and then rotted away in his hands when he took his eyes off them for a second. Somehow, something had happened and Tatsuya didn’t want him anymore—it wasn’t really like Tatsuya, other than the self-deprecating way he convinces himself that he deserves nothing better than the worst of the worst. But there wasn’t any of that in the way he’d acted; it was as close to genuine disdain for something other than himself as he’d ever heard in Tatsuya’s voice. And still, even though it hadn’t worked as a romance, even if they’re back to being friends or whatever the hell they’re supposed to be, he’s more than kind of in love with Tatsuya and he doesn’t see it letting up anytime soon.

He kicks the salt crystals with the toe of his winter boot; these shoes are already stained from kicking through piles of salt and wading through puddles and there’s still a week until January. His phone vibrates in his pocket.

It’s a message from Furi, a mass Christmas text to all of his contacts. He taps back a quick thanks and shoves his phone back into his jeans. As much as he wants to text Tatsuya now, there’s no point. There’s no reason to give him a Christmas text (especially because it’s not even Christmas here yet, and it’s probably not even dark yet in New York), and there’s nothing to talk about, really, nothing that springs to mind other than desperate, needy longing stuff that Tatsuya doesn’t want or need to hear.

He stops at a busy street corner, cabs speeding up as they come toward the intersection—and then he remembers last Christmas Eve, bumming around midtown together holding hands, and how goddamn happy Tatsuya had looked with the sun on his face and Taiga’s hand reaches up to clutch the ring around his neck. He loses the light, the brief flicker of the pedestrian signal from the giant red hand to the person and back again, but he would be no good crossing the street in this state, anyway. It hurts too much, how happy both of them had been, how it could have fucking failed anyway, how he didn’t try to save it but just let Tatsuya cut himself loose—and maybe if he had fought for it, maybe then Tatsuya would have seen—but no. Even if they both had wanted it, they let it get away from them and it doesn’t matter now. He’ll be alone on this Christmas, fall asleep thinking about the evenness of Tatsuya’s breathing and of the softest of his smiles, barely-there (easy to miss if you don’t know him and the way his face positions itself), and the way he leans forward on the couch when he’s watching basketball, the arch of his spine and the steely sharpness of his eyes and the way he folds his hands.

The wind is nipping at Taiga’s cheeks, and the light changes again. This time he crosses; he only has a few blocks left until the hotel and its heaters and triple-pane windows. It’s not much of a comfort but it’s better than being in the damn cold.

He stops a few feet outside the hotel doors to look up at the clear sky. There are a lot of stars here, a lot more than are visible back home (he’s used to seeing more airplanes than stars)—light pollution or smog or something like that, not that it really matters. The longer he looks the more pop out like eyelets in the deep lace of the sky, steady and still. It’s like Christmas tree lights, or perhaps Christmas tree lights are an imitation of this, and he’s hit with another uncomfortable wave of nostalgia, of turning out the lights in the living room and showing Tatsuya his parents’ Christmas tree as a child, of standing silently in awe.

Wasn’t there a rhyme about starlight and wishing? Wishing on the brightest star or something? Taiga spins around slowly until he finds the brightest. He focuses on it, closes his eyes. It feels a little bit foolish but he opens his mouth.

“I wish…I could get another chance with Tatsuya.”

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. Has the star stopped listening? Stars being able to hear him is dumb, anyway.

“Please.”

A wish is just a wish; stars are just balls of overheated molecules. Taiga feels a little bit better, anyway. 


	8. Chapter 7

Tatsuya lets the smile slide from his face and takes another sip of water. Compared to socializing with all of his mother's guests inside the living room, greeting them and serving them drinks in the vestibule is a better deal—but it's still not ideal. He's never really enjoyed these Christmas parties, either because he was young enough to have his cheeks pinched or because he was old enough to want to drink but too young for his parents to let him or because he'd rather be doing something else—two years ago, when he and Taiga were together, comes to mind for that last reason in particular—but seeing all of his parents' friends and catching up with them is okay (until the fourth or fifth time someone's asked him about grad school and if he has a job lined up). Spending more than a few minutes with them gets boring and awkward, though, and dealing with everyone as they arrive leaves him with little time to catch his breath.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings again. Tatsuya sets down his glass and unlocks the door. How many more guests can there be?

"Merry Christmas!"

Tatsuya blinks. It's Taiga's father. He hadn't shown up last year, presumably due to either work or the awkwardness between Tatsuya and Taiga, and Tatsuya probably hasn't seen him in a year and a half. "Merry Christmas, Kagami-san; it's good to see you."

"Good to see you, too, Tatsuya. I'm sure you've already heard this from everyone, but you really are looking grown up."

Tatsuya laughs. "Thanks. You look good, too."

"No need to flatter," Taiga's father says. "Can I just set this down on the table?"

He holds up a bag from a liquor store—most likely his favorite brand of bourbon. Tatsuya nods.

"Great. Can I pour you a glass? You're twenty-one, right?"

"Since October, yeah. Thanks."

He watches Taiga's father pour them generous splashes of liquor and top it with Coke from the open can. It's more than he'd choose to pour for himself, but there can't be too many people left to greet and he might as well give himself a little present.

He takes a glass and they both drink; he knows the burn is coming but it's still a bit unpleasant as it slides down his throat.

"Taiga should be here soon. I sent him to park the car."

The glass nearly slips from Tatsuya's hand and he grasps for something to say. "You drove here?"

He shrugs. "I had to go out to Jersey today and got home late, so I parked on the street…I figured it was easier."

The doorbell rings again, and Tatsuya opens it. Taiga's grown taller again since Tatsuya saw him last, over the summer, and snowflakes are clinging to the tips of his hair and his face is flushed perfectly from the cold. He's fiddling with the cuff of his sweater and still wearing a scarf.

"You can put that on the coat rack," Tatsuya says.

"Oh. Right," says Taiga, hurrying over to deposit the scarf on the same hanger as his leather jacket.

"Can I get you a drink?" Tatsuya says.

"No alcohol," says Taiga's dad.

Taiga's probably rolling his eyes right now; Tatsuya grins as he pours Taiga a Diet Coke and then turns and hands it to him, fingers briefly brushing against Taiga's.

"Thanks. Um, how are things?"

Tatsuya shrugs. "You know. The usual. Looking for jobs, school, all that stuff. How about you?"

"Basketball keeps me pretty busy, but in a good way."

He does look kind of tired, a little rough around the edges. But basketball doesn't do this to him, even when he's playing every minute of every game—although Tatsuya's in no position to pry, really.

"Hey, can I have another beer?" One of Tatsuya's dad's friends from work pops his head in.

"Sure," says Tatsuya. "You had the IPA, right?"

When he digs through the cases under the table and finds the right bottle, he looks up—Taiga and his father have disappeared through the door into the living room.

* * *

Tatsuya remains alone in the vestibule with his drink, tries to see how long he can last alone and just nursing the one (he's nearing an hour at this point and still less than halfway through, although the ice has mostly melted and diluted the strength of the bourbon just a bit; it's longer than he thought he'd last but then again he has a lot to think about). He could theoretically go in and socialize, but he'd rather not—he's already regretted breaking up with Taiga enough for one night; he doesn't need to watch him across the room from the corner of his eye. It was stupid, really; he got scared and pretended he wanted out, well enough for Taiga to believe him and to let him go. It's lonely, even if they talk like friends sometimes, send Facebook messages and e-mails about dumb shit they find on the internet and text about basketball or mutual acquaintances or life in general. Tatsuya stares at the wall, the shitty painting of a walrus his mom paid too much for at a thrift store that's only there to hide the peeling plaster. The door to the vestibule opens again and he stands up straight.

"Hey," says Taiga.

"Hey," says Tatsuya. "What brings you here?"

He waves his hand vaguely at the direction of the door. "I can't deal with that for too long."

"What are you going to do when you're a famous basketball player? Avoid the media?"

"Yeah," says Taiga. "I'll play ball and then go about my business."

"Good luck with that," says Tatsuya.

"I mean…I can dream," says Taiga. "And if I'm going to have to do it at some point I'm not going to do it when I don't have to."

Tatsuya smiles and holds out his glass. "Want a sip? Your dad won't find out."

"Sure, thanks," says Taiga. He winces as he swallows before handing the glass back. "Damn, that's strong."

"Your dad made it."

"I'm not letting him drive back tonight if he has another one."

They fall into a not-completely-uncomfortable silence. Tatsuya takes the time to admire Taiga fully, the way he slouches against the wall so artfully and the way he's set his shoulders, his incredible wingspan and the hands the poke out from the ends of his sweater sleeves (Tatsuya remembers vividly how warm they are, clasping his hands or touching his face). He wishes he could reach out and cup Taiga's chin in his hand, dance with him in the cramped space, anything, but does not voice it. Taiga looks as if he's lost in his own thoughts, too.

The door opens again; his mother's friends enter, teenage daughter in tow. The husband glances from Tatsuya to Taiga and back; Tatsuya gives him his most charming smile.

"We're about to head out," says the wife. "Have a good New Year, Tatsuya, okay?"

"You guys, too. Get home safe."

"Thank you," she says, ushering her husband and daughter out the front door. "It was so good to see you."

Tatsuya smiles and waves, sighing once the door has closed. "Is everyone going to start leaving now?"

"It's only quarter after ten," says Taiga.

The door to the living room is thrust open, banging against the opposite wall. Several of his mother's friends, all tipsy, make their way through to the outside door without so much as a word or a glance to Tatsuya or Taiga.

"Let's go to the kitchen," says Tatsuya. "There's actually an article in this month's _Slam_ that I wanted to e-mail you about."

They weave their way through the guests, some more of whom are headed to the door, to the kitchen, where Tatsuya's mom has temporarily placed some of the living room clutter to make room for all the people. Tatsuya digs the magazine out of a pile and flips through it; Taiga stands close behind him—Tatsuya can feel the familiar warm breath on his shoulder.

"There," he says, voice soft—Taiga leans closer to hear it.

They study the spread, the photograph of the basketball player suspended in motion and the words surrounding him in almost a frame. Tatsuya glances up; Taiga's brow is furrowed in concentration the way it always is when he reads, and Tatsuya's breath catches in his throat. He turns back to the page, trying to quiet the telltale thumping of his heart.

"So…they're saying…advanced stats are shit?" Taiga's words are barely louder than a whisper.

The whole kitchen is quiet, insulated from the music and the chatter. Tatsuya's grip tightens on his glass.

"Sort of. That they're useful, but only in specific situations, although they kept kind of contradicting themselves."

"Hm."

This silence is much more aggressive than the one in the vestibule had been. He knows where this is going, the area they're treading around carefully, but he knew what he was doing when he pulled Taiga over here, even if he did want to talk about the article and get away from the thinning conglomerate of his parents' friends—Taiga knows, too; his face is flushed even though a cool breeze is blowing in through the open window and his knuckles are white against the counter. Tatsuya nudges Taiga's arm with his elbow; Taiga shifts ever-so-slightly-closer; and then Tatsuya twists around and leans up and kisses him.

He's missed this, missed it so much, the contours of Taiga's lips against his and the smell of his aftershave and the way Taiga's hands feel on his waist, warm and strong and firm and gentle, the spicy way he tastes (even if it's partially covered with the strange combination of peppermint and aspartame this time), the way he pulls back and touches his forehead against Tatsuya's, the way he doesn't want to let go of the moment either, the soft and honest longing in his face and the deep flush of his cheeks.

Tatsuya can feel Taiga's pulse racing and the way his hands quiver, rustling the stiff cloth of Tatsuya's shirt clutched in his grip.

"You…I…" Taiga breathes.

"I really didn't want to break up with you," says Tatsuya.

Maybe it's the bourbon, but it feels good to say it.

"You…" Taiga repeats. He sighs. "You really acted like you did."

"I know. It's easier to fake it when you're a few thousand miles away."

Taiga shakes his head and then kisses Tatsuya, deep and kind of sloppy and needing, and God, had Tatsuya missed these kinds of kisses, too, Taiga's body flush against his own, those sounds Taiga makes half-under-his-breath.

"Taiga?"

Both of them turn. Taiga's father is standing in the doorway, flanked by Tatsuya's parents—they don't look too angry, at least, and they don't even seem that surprised.

"I'm about to get going, but if you want to stay that's fine with me."

Taiga looks at Tatsuya. "Um…"

Tatsuya smiles. "We'll talk tomorrow. Go with your dad."

Taiga smiles back, placing a quick kiss on Tatsuya's forehead. "Okay. Text me and we'll figure it out."

He blushes when he turns to Tatsuya's parents, bowing and mumbling his thanks. Tatsuya's mother hugs him and tells him to stop being so formal, and his father pats Taiga on the back.

They all follow Taiga and his father back through the now-empty living room, where Tatsuya's parents settle on the couch in front of the window and the falling snow outside. Tatsuya follows Taiga and his father into the hall; the coat rack is bare but for Taiga's and his father's jackets and someone's abandoned sweater. Tatsuya waits for the elevator with them, and all things considered it's far less awkward than it could be.

When the elevator arrives, Taiga's father smiles at him—it looks very much like Taiga's smile, deep and genuine and full of happiness.

"Merry Christmas, Tatsuya. And Happy New Year, although I'm sure I'll be seeing you before then."

Tatsuya bites back a laugh. "Merry Christmas. Drive safely."

Taiga reaches out and squeezes Tatsuya's hand. His fingertips linger even after he steps back into the elevator, and Tatsuya's breath catches in his throat—this is more than he deserves, but he shoves that to the back of his brain. This time he cannot let himself sabotage it. So he returns Taiga's gaze steadily until the door closes.

He stands facing it for a few moments more, even after the sounds of the creaky old mechanisms have slowed and stopped. And then he laughs. It feels good, just being like this, like everything's going to be okay—no matter what happens tomorrow or the day after, no matter if he and Taiga manage to make things work or not, no matter if tonight's snow sticks or melts into the salt and sand.


	9. Chapter 8

They play one on one sometimes, usually on weekends when Taiga's home and has a few hours between practice and the game and the courts are free of snow, or during the summer when it's too hot really but they need to get out and play. The week before New Year's is special, though (especially this year when it's mild and they can get away with just walking around in shorts and hoodies); Tatsuya can take time off and they can spend a few of those precious days lazing around all morning and then spending a good chunk of the afternoon on the courts until they're breathing hard and Tatsuya feels half-guilty because one of these times Taiga might twist his knee or something (but he refuses to take it easy and Tatsuya appreciates it all the same—he doesn't want to ever play against Taiga when he's not giving it his all and Taiga knows better than to even go there). And it's not like Taiga walks all over him this way, anyway.

Tatsuya knows Taiga's style better than anyone else, better than even Taiga does; he's been watching it for the longest with the closest attention to detail (no matter how carefully Taiga thinks, he's not concentrated in the way his finger twitches or the precise trajectory of his feet in the air as he jumps and there's no way he knows what his face looks like, even after watching video after video of himself in the trainer's room) and he knows where almost all of it came from, the bits and pieces of him that are very much in imitation of Alex and those he picked up in street ball and the way he shoots from mid-range is vaguely reminiscent of Reggie Miller (or at least that's where it came from, watching his flair even as an old guy when they were kids mesmerized by the way the announcers talked about him destroying the Knicks and believing that maybe he still could—it's evolved since them but Tatsuya's looking hard enough to see the traces that remain) and the dribbling style he's picked up half-unconsciously from Aomine. Against some random professional he probably wouldn't be able to hold his own, but against Taiga he's more than competent, adjusting subconsciously to the rhythm of Taiga's breathing and anticipating the rhythm his sneakers against the asphalt even before it abruptly changes. Sure, Taiga can outrun and outmuscle him or get around his blocks and steal attempts, but it's not always enough and Tatsuya's long since learned to take advantage of the times when it isn't.

And even though Tatsuya knows everything about Taiga, it doesn't extend the other way. After all, Taiga's games are all televised and although he'll occasionally pull out a new move he's trying out, he usually sticks to what works. Tatsuya doesn't have any consistent advantage so he relies on inconsistency, tricks he observes in his late-night street ball tournaments when Taiga's not around, moves he's tried out there as many times as he needs until he's gotten them down (the stakes are always lower when Taiga's not as involved, and he can maintain leverage against inferior players then). And there's always more to learn, no matter how much he knows, and although he knows he's got too much pride he's pretty sure the part that comes from being a true student of the game is mostly deserved. He can't add a lot of new moves at once, though; there's only so many he can practice at a time and only so much time between games against Taiga, even during the season.

Taiga still always wins, but it doesn't hurt as much as it used to—either Tatsuya's building up an immunity or he's maturing or both. There's still a drop in Tatsuya's stomach when he pulls out a new move and uses his size to his advantage and ducks under but Taiga's quick enough to stop him, anyway, to steal the ball back and dunk the ball before Tatsuya can even fully turn (he hears the ringing of the rim before he sees Taiga hanging from it and the ball falling back down to the surface of the court)—Taiga doesn't really mean to show off or rub it in his face; it's just the way he is. Sometimes he apologizes (as good as Tatsuya is about keeping his feelings under wraps there are still some things Taiga knows well enough about him to sense) and then Tatsuya only feels worse about the whole thing, and they end up stopping the game and talking awkwardly about it for a couple of hours, sitting on the side of the court with Tatsuya clutching the basketball in his arms and wishing desperately that Taiga's arm around his shoulder didn't make him feel so simultaneously guilty and secure. But sometimes the hurt is just a dull thud that he can put aside for later because right now he just has to keep playing.

And jealousy and lingering resentments aside, Taiga's basketball is beautiful, a controlled type of wild that's impossible to stop sometimes and impossible not to admire, the way his body dances through the air and the strong, sweeping motions and all the force within him. And there's something so close and intimate about this one-on-one, something that people who watch him on television never get to see, this instinctual flow, the decisions he makes on his own without coaches or teammates in mind. This is really the essence of Taiga's basketball, his Taiga's basketball—not the media's or the fans' or the team's or the world's Taiga's basketball.

* * *

They take a nap after they come home and shower; the rest of the afternoon is empty and they're worn out and the sky outside is grey and the day is so sleepy when they take the time to step back and cool off. Even through the dull clouds, the sun casts dim shadows on the buildings outside their bedroom window. Tatsuya's eyes are fluttering shut when he starts to think about the patters they throw on Taiga's shoulder and how nice it looks, how it would be great to have a photograph of this moment but by the time he finishes the thought he's already in a half-slumber, only dimly aware of Taiga's warmth and the sound of his steady breathing beside him.

When he wakes up the sun has set and the room is one big shadow and he can barely make out Taiga's form in front of him, but he doesn't mind. He kind of wants to go back to sleep but if he does he'll sleep until morning and he's also kind of hungry, and whenever Taiga wakes up he definitely will be.

He doesn't get that much time to just look at Taiga and think about him like this, except when he's not there, off on a trip to the west coast or playing in a game or when he's at home and Tatsuya's at work and really bored. It feels like they're living a facsimile of a relationship sometimes, even though they call and text and e-mail and think of each other, like there's so much longing and impatience that they've ended up right where they started, when they first realized their feelings. But they've gotten past a lot of it, hacked through the issues and left scar tissue that's finally healing properly and fading away. It's getting better, Tatsuya's faith in himself and in the relationship, like he's in the deep end of the pool and he's becoming more and more okay with treading water, with staying off the wall for longer and going further away, that he's not going to sink and even if he does Taiga will pull him out and he doesn't have to struggle against him. And even though there's no physical contact for a couple of weeks sometimes, he still has the broken Skype feed of Taiga smiling and Taiga's voice on the phone, and his feelings do not fade and when they see each other again there's no noticeable difference; they can pick up where they left off except Tatsuya lets himself breathe a little bit easier each time.

"Hey, Taiga," he whispers.

Taiga stirs next to him, nestles down farther into the blankets. Tatsuya smiles and flops down next to him, leans in and touches his nose against Taiga's, staring into his eyes until they open. Taiga jerks backward and almost bangs his head into the headboard, and Tatsuya nearly flinches.

"What the fuck, Tatsuya?"

It's too funny not to laugh; Taiga half-shoves him and he kicks back and Taiga rolls over on top of him, pinning him down against the mattress. He yawns and it ruins the effect; Tatsuya snickers and Taiga rolls off of him again.

"I'm really hungry."

"You? I'm shocked."

Taiga groans. "I'm not awake enough for this."

"I could turn on a light."

"Please, please don't."

Tatsuya moves to get out of bed and Taiga grabs him, pulls him in and nuzzles his neck. Tatsuya sighs and gives into the gesture, enjoying the feeling of Taiga's soft skin on his.

"We're not going to get around to eating if you keep this up."

"Fine," Taiga mumbles against him.

He loosens his arms, but Tatsuya waits an extra second before sliding out and off of the bed, relishing the feeling of Taiga holding him, of the pressure of Taiga's forearms against his waist.

* * *

They end up going out for dinner, sick of the leftovers from dinner a few days ago when Taiga's dad came over and they got caught up in preparation and made entirely too much food even considering Taiga's appetite. They walk to the restaurant even though it's a ways away; the clouds are full and thick above them and it's certainly too warm to snow, even in the dark, but they don't have to unfold the umbrella just yet. It's actually quiet out; people are probably saving their party spirit up for New Year's Eve or something—it's also still quite early, before seven, but the streets are pretty bare. A few cars roll by on the slick surface of the road, but they're few and far between, flashes of bright paint jobs against the dullness of the evening. There's no hurry, though, so they walk slowly.

They make idle conversation a while before letting it die—they've gotten better at that again; back when they restarted their relationship there was an urgency pulling both of them along to get as many words in as possible. Talking is nice, but they don't always have to; it's just another thing that gets easier the more they believe in the stability of this thing between them, the more they trust each other again.

As Taiga ducks into the restaurant ahead of him, Tatsuya takes the moment to really appreciate the way his ass and legs look in those jeans, the wideness of his shoulders straining against his hoodie, and then glances down at their still-joined hands. The spacing of his fingers, the freckles that dot the back of his hand, the curve of the heel—attraction surges through him suddenly, like somewhere inside him a high-voltage circuit has just been reconnected.

* * *

When they exit the restaurant onto the narrow sidewalk, the rain hits them—it's not heavy but if they walk all the way back home they'll be soaked. Taiga unfolds the umbrella and Tatsuya pauses under the awning. The city's flickered into life (or at least this street has); the lights on the shops are fully brightened and hurrying people pass them in both directions. Cars and motorcycles make their way through the streets, honking at pedestrians, the noise mixing in with the chatter of people. Tatsuya huddles under the umbrella with Taiga; it's now gotten cold enough that their breath is visible, and the warmth from Taiga's body is especially welcome. He tucks his arm around Taiga's waist and Taiga kisses the side of his forehead, pushing Tatsuya's bangs aside with his mouth. There's something not unlike relief that's settling inside Tatsuya's stomach; he's really starting to believe that it's going to be okay. Maybe he'll wake up tomorrow and he won't believe anymore, but they'll only have to cross that bridge if they come to it.


	10. Epilogue

The apartment is quiet but for the distant hum of the radiator in the living room; something about it makes Taiga shut the door slowly and carefully and wince at the click of the locks and his boots shaking off the remnants of snow and ice caked on the soles. He doesn’t call out a greeting; Tatsuya can probably hear him and he doesn’t want to disturb the tranquility any more than he has to. Once he’s hung up his coat and slipped off his shoes and deposited his suitcase in the linen closet (he can always unpack tomorrow), he pads over into the living room.

Tatsuya’s lying asleep on the couch, clutching his half-open laptop. A nearly-empty mug of coffee is beside him; the TV is muted on some New Year’s Eve celebration show. Taiga feels his lips widening into a huge smile—this road trip hasn’t even been that long, all things considered, and he’s already missed Tatsuya so much, the way his face looks under the shadows thrown by the lamplight and the curl of his delicate fingers into fists and the way the hem of his t-shirt has peeled back to reveal a sliver of pale skin and the slight smile on his face. It’s always good to be home, but it’s especially good to be home now. He makes his way over to the couch, trying to avoid the creakiest floorboards, and leans over the back. Up close, Tatsuya looks even better, happier and cozier and more gorgeous, and Taiga kisses his cheek. Tatsuya’s eyes flutter open and it takes a second for his eyes to adjust.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Taiga whispers.

Tatsuya grins. “Hey. You’re back.” His voice is hoarse.

Taiga walks around the other side of the couch and sits down; Tatsuya clutches his laptop tighter and shifts positions, eventually putting his feet up on Taiga’s lap.

“How was your flight?”

Taiga shrugs. “Boring. Long. I’m glad to be back.”

Tatsuya resumes typing; he’s probably working on a spreadsheet again—it seems unfair that they give him days off and expect him to do work anyway, but at least he’s home. And it’s fun to watch the way he furrows his brow at the screen and bites his lip and listen to the incessant rhythm of his fingers on the keys. Tatsuya looks up at him.

“Yes?”

Taiga smiles. “Nothing.”

Tatsuya’s lips turn up and he hums under his breath; Taiga pats his knee. He reaches across the table for the remote and turns the volume up a little; the excitable reporter is talking about who’s going to perform when the ball drops even as the wind is whipping her scarf across her face.

“You can turn it up a little more,” says Tatsuya.

“This is fine.”

The warm weight of Tatsuya’s legs settles on him and the TV noise fades into the background. Taiga feels his eyes growing heavier. Tatsuya closes his laptop and puts it onto the table, scooting closer, and Taiga’s eyes snap open.

“You want anything? Dinner?”

Taiga shakes his head. “Later.”

Later they’ll eat leftovers and drink wine and probably won’t stay up until the ball drops because he’s jet lagged and Tatsuya’s overworked and they’ll both be slightly inebriated by then, but they’ll go to bed happy because they’re together and because things are okay; things are more than okay—and they’re only looking up from here. He and Tatsuya are living with each other as they are, not hoping for what they aren’t or what they used to be or anything else. The snow outside is covered in grime and ice, some of it melting into slush at the curbs like deep seas at the edges of cliffs, and there will most likely be more snow to come, snow to slog through and swear at and fall into, but for now they’re safe from it, shielded by their togetherness and the comforting warmth from each other.


End file.
